Four Touches and a Fire
by katydidit
Summary: It all started with a touch, if you could call it that. Rated for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

It all started with a touch, if you could call it that. Age-roughened fingers slid, maybe innocently, across a pale strip of skin exposed between a shirt and a skirt. His fingertips left a trail of tingling fire in their wake—a fire that sank below her skin, into muscle and bone. She was loath to stand up, but they were surrounded by the rest of the team, and it would look somewhat strange to stay in this position, hunched over and riding a lovely wave of goosebumps for the next ten minutes.

The contact had been so light that, honestly, she almost couldn't be sure that it had happened in the first place—until she turned and caught his eyes. They burned with a question, a challenge, and a warning, and the combination made her stomach tighten pleasantly. She was glad that the other agents had apparently found something new on McGee's iPod to ridicule, because they didn't notice the all-but-tangible tension making the air waver between them.

As though hypnotized, she took a step or two forward. For several long moments, she fully intended to slip her arms around his neck and pull him down to her lips, forgetting all about where they were, or even who they were. She imagined he would be stone at first, unresponsive either out of shock or (worst case scenario) some form of embarrassment for her. Ignoring the latter, she imagined he would react slowly, like the spark of a fire spreading through kindling before erupting into a full-blown flame.

A sudden awareness of the silence surrounding them snapped her back into reality, and she felt her face flush with color. Her lips had parted slightly while she was lost in her little fantasy, and now she could feel her heart thudding faster in her chest. Someone repeated a question: one that had apparently been directed at one of them. Him. He was the first to break through their tension, by lifting his eyes to the Mossad agent's face, as though nothing had happened just then. A strange look would later pass between the senior agent and his female coworker, but in time they would simply dismiss it as yet another idiosyncrasy on the part of their fearless leader.

She said nothing: just lowered her eyes with a coy smile that would be lost on all but the one receiving it, and handed over the file she'd been retrieving before any of this began. It would be a tie game. For now.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Thank you for all of the positive reviews so far. I hope I don't disappoint with this chapter...let me know what you think.

***

The second touch was far less fleeting: more purposeful, and therefore not as easily dismissed. She'd been perched carefully on the edge of his desk and chatting with the other agents one morning when he'd come in. She didn't move as he approached the desk, and he didn't address her as he sat. He could feel his senior agent's questioning gaze—perhaps wondering why he'd just completely overlooked his Favorite. He knew that the wheels in his head would be turning, trying to come up with an explanation. Had they fought? No, because why would Abby dare sit on his desk. Had they slept together? Of course not, this was Gibbs here, and he would never break Rule 12.

In truth, each of them felt the other's presence as if they'd been looking straight at each other. No words were necessary. As he sat, she shifted a bit, as though making herself more comfortable and permanent in his personal space. This left him relatively hidden from the rest of his team, and free to let his eyes travel down the length of her spine, along the gently sloping curves and valleys of her waist and hips and backside. For a brief moment, he allowed his mind to wander to the pale skin that lay hidden just a few inches away from him.

With very little effort, he could raise his hand, slip it beneath her shirt, and trace the border between ink and skin. Goosebumps would erupt in the wake of his touch and maybe she would arch backwards into his touch with a pleasured moan. He'd have no choice: the rest of his team would vanish into insignificance as he rose from his chair and tugged her top effortlessly over her head. He would trace her tattoos with his eyes, his fingers, his tongue, and her eyes would grow wide, excited.

Instead of slipping beneath her shirt, however, he moved his hand to press against one rounded hip. His fingers splayed out over the dark leatherlike material of her skirt, warmed by its intimacy with the skin that drove him to distraction. He felt her flinch momentarily, but after a moment she resumed conversation, almost seamlessly. His thumb slid around and up her back, stopping just before he reached the waist of her skirt. She moved, a short-lived arch of her lower back, but it was there, along with that sharp intake of breath that keen ears caught despite her attempt to cover it with a cough. Images filled his mind—each flashing for no more than a few fractions of a second—of his hands gripping her bare hips as she moved astride him. Guiding her into a rhythm that would lead both of them over the edge. Reaching between them to touch her, send her toppling first. Names—his name, her name—gritted out in pleasure and desperation. Heat and darkness, and sheets tangled around sweat-slicked limbs.

She twisted, shooting hi a loaded look over one shoulder. Her eyes were dark, wide with some strange combination of confusion and understanding. He shot her a rare grin as he lifted a file folder into sight—one that she'd been sitting on. A quick exhalation of breath, a set of ponytails tossed in frustration, and she was sliding off of the desk, taking her hips and her scent and her tattoos out of reach once more.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for all the great reviews! Sorry I've taken so long in updating. I'm not totally confident about this chapter, so please let me know what you think.

The third touch was very nearly his undoing. They were alone in her lab, and she was leaning over her microscope studying a slide. This was a situation they'd been in thousands of times before—the only thing different this time was that she was not yet jumping around with joy. She hadn't found anything yet: he had only come down to replenish her Caf-Pow stash. They were desperate now, for any potential break in the case. Their last suspect had been released hours ago, despite his gut feeling, and he was still rather irritated.

He was standing behind her, off to one side a little, when suddenly she started up with an excited gasp. She turned to him and opened her mouth to share the news, but as she did, her ankle twisted beneath her, and she fell against him. Instinctively he snaked his arms around her and pulled her up tight against his body and held her that way for a moment, ostensibly so she could regain her footing. In reality, however, he just wasn't sure he was capable of letting her go just yet. He believed he could feel her heart thumping, that he heard her breath catch in her throat as their eyes met. He raised one hand to smooth her hair down, then, perhaps against his better judgment, traced his finger along her jawline. Surprisingly, she tilted her face into his touch and her eyelids seemed to grow heavy, but it was at this exact point that he remembered he was still holding her. Gradually, he loosened his touch enough for her to step away, but she seemed reluctant. And were her eyes always that green?

He was the one to move away—it was more self-preservation than actual free will this time.

After all, if he hadn't moved when he had, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would have pushed her straight up against her desk and kissed her, hard. She would have been soft under his touch, pliant and willing, and part of him felt like he could hear the noises she'd make, that would disappear down his throat as the kiss deepened and grew more demanding. He would feel her breathing quicken, as their temperatures would rise. One hand would slide beneath her skirt, to press against one warm thigh, maybe push it to one side as he stepped between her legs and hoisted her up onto her desk.

Without realizing it, he had lifted his hand once again to caress her, this time landing on her cheek. She placed her hand on his to hold it in place and sank her teeth into her lower lip. He moved closer and felt her breath coming fast, in sweet, short puffs against his skin. Going against every rule he'd laid down for himself, he stepped forward. She was nearly pinned now, as he had just imagined, and her eyes widened slightly, but they both remained wordless.

He let his hand drop to his side and thought about moving away, to place a reasonably-safe distance between them. Some quick knowledge flashed behind those bright eyes of hers, and the corners of her mouth curved into a knowing smile.

Before anything else could happen, she spun around and ducked effortlessly under his arms. He noticed a slight limp—not that he was looking at her legs, zipped into those shiny black boots—and pushed her chair up behind her. She turned to give him a grateful smile, then, as she was turning away, oh-so-innocently sucked her lower lip between her teeth. He could do nothing but grit his own teeth and turn to stalk out of the lab.

That would be one point for her.


End file.
